


these accidents of faith

by kathillards



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers R.P.M.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathillards/pseuds/kathillards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks maybe this is what it feels like to love at the edge of an abyss, to believe in something at the end of the world when everything else worth believing in has already died. —- ScottSummer</p>
            </blockquote>





	these accidents of faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kfuller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kfuller/gifts).



> me: [uses lyrics from one snow patrol song for the title and another for the fic itself] aesthetic
> 
> happy birthday, bia! i hope you like this despite my weird no dialogue prose and the fact that for some reason my brain wanted me to write this ship?? i can't explain it either.

**these accidents of faith**

_‘cause you can see the road ahead in your dream_  
_the engine’s more a sigh than a scream_  
_your ghosts look more like angels from there_  
_the coast comes like a raft of warm air_

— snow patrol, the symphony

-:-

He meets her out in the desert, a flash of an angel’s face swimming in front of his hazy eyes, the dry heat of the wastelands beating down on his shoulders, his heart lost somewhere up in the sky. She looks like a mirage, but her hand is so terribly real and solid and small in his, it reminds him he is alive.

He is alive he is alive he is alive – and his brother is dead. The world is a shower of sparks and screaming and the trail of dust she leaves in her wake as she drives them away to a glass dome and his father’s broken heart and his destiny.

He forgets to ask her name, but her smile is etched into his mind, the one real thing, the only light left in the darkness.

-:-

Summer. Her name is Summer, as warm and bright as she is, the remnant of a lost world where the seasons are real and he had faith that the sun would show up at the end of every storm. She stays up late with him when he can’t sleep from nightmares, when the ghosts of his past are haunting his every step, steadies his hands in hers and promises him it’ll be okay.

He thinks he might be a little in love with her, those first few mornings that he wakes up with her head on his shoulder, curls haloed over his skin, dawn breaking across their new world. Just a little – not enough to matter, not enough to really count.

-:-

Despite her name, she looks prettiest in the evening, when everything golden and bright and cheery has washed out of the dome’s skies, when all that is left is twinkling stars in a cruel mockery of the constellations that once were real and the fake moonlight sparkling silver and white, glinting in her soft blonde curls.

He spends a lot of time watching her out on the balcony, her hands balanced on the railing, the people of their fragile domed city wandering to and fro under the street lamps below. They don’t talk, but he brings her coffee, sometimes beer, and sometimes Flynn will join them, and it feels a bit like family.

-:-

She asks him once if he really thinks his father blames him for Marcus’s death, halfway tipsy on stolen vodka he’d managed to snag from his father’s house the last time he’d visited, the starlight casting shadows over her face, his stomach a mess of guilt and nerves and wanting and wishing.

He takes a swig to avoid thinking about it, but her gaze is sharp and kind and irresistible. Flynn isn’t there tonight. Why wouldn’t he, why shouldn’t he, it was my fault, it’s my fault he’s gone –

She kisses him, sweet and soft, says, no, it’s not your fault, says, you did everything you could, says, we’ll never make it through this if we blame ourselves and each other for the past, says, come with me.

-:-

That night, she takes him out to a grave, a stone with a name carved on it, half-hidden behind a tree just beyond their home. There’s no body, she assures him, nothing left to bury, but she traces the name etched into the stone so gently, he thinks maybe she buried part of herself here.

She tells him, my parents are alive, they escaped, they got lucky, but I didn’t, I’d spent my whole life being lucky, and then the world ended and the only person who ever knew me died to save me. Her breaths come soft, then rough, then choked; he gathers her in his arms and holds her till she cries herself out.

Her skin is soft when he slides his hands over her arms, easing down her goosebumps, soothing her shivers. She buries her head in his chest, whispers, it’ll be okay, it has to be okay, it has to mean something, they died for something, they died for us, we have to win, we have to win.

He presses promises and kisses into her hair, says, you’re right, says, we’ll win, we’ll be all right.

-:-

Summer makes it easy to believe in something, easy to believe in her. She is fire and conviction and strength, holding the three of them together through sheer force of will and stubbornness. He thinks sometimes K made a mistake, that yellow should be the leader, thinks it’s her he looks for on the battlefield, the flash of bright yellow, the comfort of knowing that she’s at his side that makes it so easy to keep fighting.

They don’t kiss much once they finish training, once his father lets them out onto the field to be superheroes, but the first time he falls in battle and wakes up in the garage to her face staring down at him, in and out of focus, only glimpses of her blonde curls and pink lips filtering in through the daze in his brain, she kisses him so hard and long, he thinks she might forget to move away at all.

He thinks maybe he doesn’t want her to, thinks maybe this is what it feels like to love at the edge of an abyss, to believe in something at the end of the world when everything else worth believing in has already died.

-:-

A month from the day his world turns upside down forever again, one more time, she meets him in his room after a battle that left them all bleeding and fractured and scarred, asks him if she can stay. It’s not like he’s ever been able to say no to her, so he lets her in, closes the door, waits for her to speak.

She doesn’t speak, all their words run dry, no more battle commands, no more shouting each other’s names across a warzone, no more coughing out platitudes, wondering if they’re all right. Instead she kisses him, desperate and dizzy, pushes him back onto his bed, his vision swimming with just her face and her touch and her lips, his whole body burning.

He falls asleep with her curled up into him, her heartbeat fluttering under his fingers as he counts, one, two, three, makes sure she’s still alive, they are still alive.

-:-

When Dillon comes, his center of gravity shifts, four instead of three throwing him off balance, his footsteps uneasy in this new world order. It’s been a month and nothing has happened since, so he supposes he has no reason to be surprised that Summer welcomes the change with open arms and a steadfast heart, always believing the best in people, already believing in this boy with no memories and ghosts murmuring around his edges, her smiles slipping through his fingers like sand.

The last time he kisses her, he asks her why, asks her what made her trust in a boy without a history, without a chance, a boy with the wastelands at his back and nothing in his future except a girl with golden hair and a golden smile.

He asks her why, wants to know why him, why Dillon, why now. She smiles sadly and kisses him again and says, I’m sorry, says, I don’t believe in letting the past define us, says, we all have to move forward someday.

He’s not blind. She’s saying let’s move forward, she’s only looking at Dillon.

-:-

It doesn’t hurt as much as he expected it to, maybe a side-effect of growing up under a war, of being a soldier, a warrior, a leader. War shakes the world around him; there’s no time left for things like pretty girls who make him feel like maybe the sun is real. He builds glass walls around his heart, builds his heart around his team, builds himself up on their shoulders and prays it’ll be enough.

Victory costs part of his soul, but in the end, he thinks it’s worth it. They’re eight strong, all together, Summer smiling at him, and that part of him that’s a little in love with her, just a little, not enough to really matter, jumps in his heart, but then the end of the world is over and he is alive they are alive they are all alive –

He didn’t lose his heart this time, maybe that’s what matters.

-:-

Before she leaves, she finds him at his brother’s grave, kneeling over the grey stone, his knees scraping dirt and grass, the story of their final battle slipping out of his mouth, lost to the winds because Marcus will never hear it, but maybe that’s okay. She sits down beside him, settles herself into his side, head on his shoulders and hand over his heart, just the way she used to, and he lets her because he’ll always let her, always have space for her, always be there.

She says, I’m sorry, and he laughs and brushes a kiss into her hair, soft and fluttery and lost in her curls, promises her that it’s okay, he’s okay, everything’s okay now.

For the first time in a long time, he believes in himself, too.


End file.
